


we got champagne problems (only one way to solve them)

by kissvibe



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Actor Louis Tomlinson, BAFTA Awards, Drunk Louis, Enjoy!, Famous Louis Tomlinson, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nervous Harry, Non-Famous Harry, a lot of champagne, terrible waiter harry, we all need a friend like harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissvibe/pseuds/kissvibe
Summary: "I'm still scared I'll screw this whole thing, like, what happens when I royally fuck something up.""No you won't! All you'll have to do is carry some plates around and be polite. They won't make you serve anybody super important don't worry! Plus it's just the reception, like, pre-drinks and shit. Nothing you can mess up."Harry wanted to interject that there were many things that could be messed up but Niall began a fit of vigorous coughs."I gotta go man I think I might throw up. Anyway, I'll text you the details. Love you!"Or the one in which Louis is a famous actor who attends the BAFTAs and Harry is a waiter who isn't really a waiter.





	we got champagne problems (only one way to solve them)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i've literally never written a fic before please be nice!!! i apologise in advance for any mistakes and the gratuitous use of italics. much love!

As most disasters in Harry's life begin it started with a call from Niall.

"Look mate remember that time you went on holiday and I looked after Leila for two weeks?" Harry unfortunately did remember the great Cat Allergic Reaction Disaster of 2018 that he didn't hear the end of for weeks.

Harry whined into the phone. "But why this! I know I owe you a favour but not this big. It's too much! I can't do it. It's the god damn private BAFTAs reception Niall, not scooping a kitty litter box."

"Oi, I looked like a balloon for a week that was a very trying time," Niall hacked over the phone line, "I'm dead sick there is no way in hell I will be able to-"

"But why me? What about Liam? This sounds like his kind of gig." Harry interrupted. He knew he was being awfully rude in Niall's _time of need,_ but he was asking too much, even for Harry.

"Look man, I desperately need the money, I'm 3 months behind on rent. We'll even split it 70/30!" Niall's tone was uncharacteristically serious, "You know I wouldn't have come to you with this if it wasn't the last resort."

In ordinary circumstances Harry would be offended but he knew that he really is a clumsy tornado on legs who is not fit for any job needing refinement.

"How will this even work, won't they know what you look like?" Harry huffed.

"Nah, they only hired me based on name so It'll be a breeze, just walk in and show the credentials I’ll send you and you're in." Niall talked about this like it was the easiest thing in the world and Harry was about to go crazy.

"Plus," Niall continued after a brief phlegm hacking intermission, "You might even get to talk to some cool people. You know I got to talk to Ed Sheeran once at one of these things."

"Yeah for, like, 5 whole seconds!" Harry had never heard the end of that interaction.

"Shut it Styles. It's still a really good opportunity. Plus, as great literature says, 'it's a job a million girls would die for' and you're getting it served to you on a silver platter. Come on even you can see that it would be at least a cool story to tell."

"Niall I'm not sure The Devil Wears Prada counts as 'great literature'." Harry sighed fondly. He knew that Niall had a point, this would be a good opportunity for him, and he would do anything for his best mate. Even if it meant making an absolute fool of himself.

"You know," Niall started with a dangerous tone to his voice, "I looked at the nominee list and guess who is on there this year."

"Who?" Harry rolled his eyes, ready for some obscure celebrity only Niall would care about.

"Louis Tomlinson."

 _Oh._

Images flashed through Harry's mind of soft hair and blue eyes. The movie poster that hung next to his teenage bed with Tomlinson flashing his signature smile. He definitely, maybe doesn't have that poster still rolled up somewhere in his shitty apartment cupboard because he is totally and completely over that phase of his life. Totally.

And if that's what causes Harry's heart rate to rocket and him to whisper, "Fine, send me the details." Niall never has to know.

Niall practically hollered through the phone.

"I knew you'd pull through Styles you're the greatest best friend in the world."

If Harry can pull this off successfully he better be the best friend in the _universe._

"I'm still scared I'll screw this whole thing, like, what happens when I royally fuck something up."

"No, you won't! All you'll have to do is carry some plates around and be polite. They won't make you serve anybody super important don't worry! Plus, it's just the reception, like, pre-drinks and shit. Nothing you can mess up."

Harry wanted to interject that there were _many_ things that could be messed up but Niall began a fit of vigorous coughs _, "_ I gotta go man I think I might throw up. Anyway, I'll text you the details. Love you!"

"Niall wait!" Harry called, "What if I-"

“Bye! You'll be great. Go get it!"

And with that the line disconnected and Harry was left staring at his ceiling with a racing heart and clammy palms, resigned to the worst night of his life.

\-------

Here Harry was, wringing his hands looking like an absolute wreck in a cheap suit trying to pull it together in the _fucking_ Royal Albert Hall. It had taken 2 hours of pacing his tiny room before he had replied to Niall's ' _you'll kill it xxx'_ text with _'if anything awful happens i'll kill YOU.'_ and set off to complete a job he was in no way qualified for.

He'd passed through security like a breeze and had been herded immediately into a back hall and handed a tray of finger food in such a whirl he hadn't even had time to panic, or worse throw up.

For some absolute miracle he was demoted from food service since he was deemed too much of a risk due to an unfortunate plate drop that happened merely 5 minutes after he was handed a tray. He promptly had a bottle of champagne shoved in his hand and a gruff 'pull it the fuck together' whispered in his ear among the chaos unfolding behind the scenes. Harry thinks that if he just pretends to be doing _something_ he should be fine. This plan, of course, as all things involving him seem to do, abruptly went to shit.

He’s _meant_ to be milling around asking people if they would ‘care for another drink’ but he’s currently schooling in a panic attack after nearly dousing somebody in Dom Perignon. Harry was decidedly not cut out for this at all and he's one more mortifying encounter away from rushing out of the hall and never looking back. He would text Niall to help calm his nerves, but they confiscated his god forsaken phone the minute before guests started arriving due to some 'privacy for esteemed guests' bullshit.

He's about to recommence his drink duties when he turns and collides with something, no _someone_ and knocks them both to the ground.

"Fuck," He swears rubbing his elbow, _this is the last time he does anything for Niall, the bloody Irish bastard._

Harry looks up slowly, ready to profusely apologise to whoever he has wounded when he stops dead in his tracks.

It's Louis _bloody_ Tomlinson.

He nearly faints on the spot.

This was the star of numerous of Harry's wet dreams and now he is sitting before him in all his possibly concussed glory.

Harry rights himself immediately as Louis does and begins his apologetic spiel.

"God, I am so so so incredibly sorry do you need me to get you anything-" He's abruptly cut off.

"A hand might be a good start mate," Louis extends his arm out for Harry to grab which he takes and hauls him to his feet. From this close he gets a waft of his expensive tobacco cologne and Harry all but melts to the floor.

"I'm so sorry-" Harry is cut off again.

"It's an accident I know. No harm done," Louis slurs slightly which is when Harry realises two things: One, if God exists, he definitely spent more time making Louis Tomlinson and two, Louis appears to have had one too many complimentary beverages. Harry thanks his lucky stars because that means more likely than not that Louis won't even remember this encounter and he's safe to continue his night pretending he isn't absolutely humiliated. He also realises belatedly that Louis had been talking and is now waving his arm in his face to grab his attention.

"Hello? Earth to clumsy guy?"

Great. He is now known to his future husband as _clumsy guy._ This night is the worst.

"Is there anything at all I can get you? Again i'm so sorry-" Harry is cut off for the third time and if he wasn't so mortified he would be starting to get a bit miffed at this point.

"Are you an actor? You look very familiar," Louis scrunches his drunken face in recollection and Harry's heart all but goes _woosh_ out the door into London's crisp night air.

"Uhhh no? I'm just a waiter not a guest." At that Louis' eyes widen comically.

"You! You're a waiter," Harry nods and gets ready for the berating he may receive, but it never comes.

"Sorry," Louis begins, "I mean no offence to your co-workers but I didn't think that they hired people that looked like you."

Harry may have been apologetic before but now he was starting to become positively pissed off. He never in all of this stopped to realise that Louis, his teenage fantasy, could actually be a huge dick.

"Hired people that look like me?" Harry speaks slowly, trying to reign in his annoyance. This is why, he thinks, they say you should never meet your idols because they will always disappoint you. 

"I meant I've never seen a waiter as fit as you," He says matter-of-factly

Oh. _Oh._

There was no way that he heard that correctly because this is Louis Tomlinson and Harry is just Harry.

He also realises a second too late that he might have said that aloud. Maybe he was the concussed one.

Louis' raises his eyebrows and begins smirking. And _god_ is this all too much for a Sunday.

"Well 'Just Harry' I'm also 'Just Louis' who thinks you're incredibly fit," Louis looks him up and down, cataloguing Harry's appearance.

It's until this moment Harry realises that he hadn't even stopped to properly look at Louis which is now apparently an option and _holy shit_ he is wearing the tightest suit pants worn to man. Harry had spent countless years admiring him from behind a screen but actually being able to see Louis in real life has him on the edge of nervous sexual breakdown. Harry thinks he has the most piercing blue eyes that he has ever seen and _god_ the look Louis is giving him makes him want to spill his darkest secrets.

Harry realises a beat too late he probably should have responded by now when Louis interjects.

"I saw you spill champagne all over Pedro Pascal earlier." Harry cringes at the still fresh memory. 

"You know how you said I don't 'look like my co-workers' well it's true in another way, because I shouldn't really be working here I'm just filling in for a friend. Before this I'd only opened like, three champagne bottles in my life." Harry all but whispers in embarrassment.

Louis raises his eyebrows, “A bad boy, I like it.”

Harry is definitely sweating now and he thanks the merciful lord that Louis quickly moves on from _that_ tangent.

"So what is it you actually do then? Other than cause wardrobe malfunctions of course." 

"Hey!" Harry holds his hand to his heart in mock offence, "be careful you're bruising my ego."

"Well I think you really bruised me so I win." Louis teased poking out his tongue and little and _jesus_ Harry thinks he's going to faint soon.

_Back on track, back on track, back on track don't think about Louis Tomlinson's tongue or mouth or anything unholy._

"Well I'm hoping to get into music actually, that's the whole reason I even agreed to this gig," He definitely isn't going to tell Louis that he may have been the deciding factor in Harry taking said gig but Louis looks genuinely interested so Harry presses on, "to rub shoulders with some of the best you know? I thought I might even be able to get in a conversation or two with somebody but everyone is too caught up in hors d'oeuvre and expensive drinks to care about little old waiter me."

Understanding flashes in Louis' eyes for a second and he grabs Harry's arm and gives it a quick squeeze.

"Don't take it personally," Louis reassures him, "Most of the people at these things are wankers anyway always taking themselves too seriously. Plus, if it counts I care."

And _wow_. In all the different ways this conversation could have played out in Harry's wildest dreams he never envisioned one in which _the_ Louis Tomlinson, could have been this nice.

Louis abruptly interrupted his thoughts, "Would you want to meet some people maybe? I can introduce you to some colleagues if you want. You know 'get some connections'."

It's official, Louis Tomlinson is an angel and Harry is a mere mortal basking in his ethereal presence.

"That's honestly so nice but you've never even heard me sing. You wouldn't want to be introducing some random sod to a bunch of A-listers you know?"

"Hey, don't talk like that," Louis reaches up to ruffle his hair and let's his hand linger for a second, "With a voice that deep and dimples like that you're destined to be a star."

Harry blushes profusely and looks at the ground before meeting Louis' gravelly gaze.

In the background another waiter catches his eye and makes a cut throat motion, all but breaking the moment as Harry quickly begins to panic.

"I uhh I've really got to go! It was so nice to meet you honestly and ithinkyourefittoo," Harry squeaks out, feeling like a useless 15 year old confessing to his schoolboy crush, but in some ways Louis is.

"If I screw this up my best friend might not get payed which is technically me but I can't risk that you know uhh –“

Louis cuts him off by taking his hand and squeezing it gently. Harry's arm feels like it's on fire. Tiny sparks flying up from where their palms connect and he prays to a higher entity that maybe Louis might be feeling this way too.

"It's totally okay don't worry I understand. Deep breaths Harold."

Harry takes a steadying breath and tries not to pout as Louis drops his hand, he must be unsuccessful judging by the warm chuckle Louis let's out.

"Before you go, remember earlier when you offered to get me something after you bowled me over?" Louis looks at him pointedly 

"I said I was sorry!" Louis smiles while gazing directly into Harry's eyes and he takes that as a signal all is forgiven. "But um yes. What did you need?"

"Your number," Louis wiggles his eyebrows and Harry erupts with laughter, "Sorry that was awful but seriously give me your number Harold."

God Harry is hopelessly endeared.

"Give me your phone and I'll put it in," Louis extends his hand, waiting.

"Oh god, we got them confiscated before everyone arrived." 

"Wait, no that's okay," Louis pats around his suit and his eyes widen in horror, "Shit, my manager took mine off of me because I'm 'too much of a liability' at these things when I’ve had a drink, with my tendency to drunk tweet and all."

Harry realises bitterly that this is probably the end of his definitely-not-a-love-story with Louis. There's no way for him to possibly contact him after tonight, not that Louis would probably want to anyway. He is probably just this nice to everyone. That thought makes Harry feel decidedly less special when suddenly Louis does something miraculous.

He looks around for a second before snatching the handkerchief from his suit pocket, "Do you have a pen Harold?"

Louis plucks a pen resting in Harry's top pocket (with a little "Aha!" no less) that Harry didn't even realise was in there and furrows his brows in confusion which nearly distracts him from what Louis is about to do and, "Wait!" Harry stops Louis in horror, the latter of whom has his open pen poised dangerously above his probably Gucci handkerchief. He cannot be responsible for defiling an item like that. "That's designer! Just write it on my hand."

"But it might rub off! Plus you're well worth it Harry," Louis blinks at him slowly for a second, appraisingly then begins scribbling on the piece of fabric and well, Harry can't argue with him when he's gone and said something like _that_ , "This is my number and the address for the afterparty I'm holding which I expect you to be attending."

“You might have had a few too many drinks to be remembering me by then.” Harry says rather glumly.

“Come off it! I’ve only had two drinks and I’d have to be absolutely sloshed not to remember meeting somebody like you.”

Harry is about to open his mouth to reply and most likely put his foot in his mouth, when they are distracted from a shout from behind. 

"Oi! Tomlinson get over here." A man calls from across the small crowded room.

"Ahh that's my manager. I think I'm due to go," Louis look shyly down at his feet and rises onto his toes to whisper in Harry's ear, "I'll see you later." 

He squeezes Harry's shoulder, thrusts the handkerchief into his hand and strides off leaving Harry standing alone with his mouth slightly agape and mind whirring. He of all people now has Louis Tomlinson's number in his fist and a promise of seeing him in a few hours and that's all he could have ever asked for really.

And if later Harry gets in trouble for getting distracted and showering more unsuspecting guests in champagne, well, he thinks he has a pretty good excuse. 


End file.
